Transformation must be embodied to be real. Any sort of
change that is limited only to our minds is unlikely to make any actual difference
in the world.
It is perhaps sad but nonetheless true that many, if not
most, of us have suffered some sort of bodily trauma in our lives. We carry the
remnants of these traumas with us in our bodies—the memories are felt at least as
much in our limbs and chests and necks and backs as they are in our minds. And
yet we seem to think that we can transform our lives by merely changing our
attitude.
Surely our minds and heart must be open in order to be
transformed. But just as surely our bodies must practice opening to
transformational healing. This practice embraces singing and dancing and playing,
running and rolling and ambling, stretching and reaching. If we wish to
transform our woundedness, we must find ways to dance with it, and we must let
our bodies lead the way.
In the book of Exodus, after the Israelites have escaped
Pharaoh's army and crossed the Red Sea, we are told that "Miriam the
prophetess, the sister of Aaron, took a tambourine in her hand; and all the
women followed her with tambourines and dances. And Miriam called to them: Sing
to God." And the people sang, and they danced.
The Israelites carried with them the many bodily wounds and
indignities they had suffered in Egypt. And they began the process of
transformation with singing and dancing. It was just the beginning of their
journey, to be sure. But Miriam knew that, if they were to have any chance of
healing, any chance of transforming their suffering, that the change had to
start with their bodies and not just their minds.
